Harry Potter and the Rising Dark
by RPGIII
Summary: The Potter family has been split for five years, with Harry in the US helping the local law enforcement by day and drowning himself in a bottle by night. But now a series of rituals of a dark nature bring the two sides together again to stop the Dark before it's given the chance to expand and rise.


The dark haired man watched as the country side slid past the him, occasional parts lit up by the flash of the blue and red lights above him. He cast a sideways glance at the uniformed officer that had been sent to retrieve him from his daily hangover, a reminder of his nightly habit of drinking himself into a coma. The rookie cast a look at him then quickly looked away. The man smirked; it was good to know that he could still frighten some people.

"Are we there yet, mate?" he asked. "I don't appreciate being woken so early in the morning."

"Yes, Sir." The rookie replied his eyes set firmly on the road in front of him. "It's just round the corner."

The car came to a stop at the entrance of a small dirt path that disappeared between the trees. Looking down at the path the numerous footprints and broken twigs scattering it he could tell many people had been down there recently, he rolled his eyes, the cops had probably destroyed most if not all the evidence.

The Officer exited the car and ran round to the passenger door, opening it he held up an umbrella for the man to shelter under from the pouring rain. Sneering slightly the elder man started walking, following the tracks down the path and deeper into the wooded area. The queasiness that had been in his stomach since he had woken up increased. He took a deep breath in and carried on walking, the sickening feeling increased and started weighing in his gut, turning it inside out. Suddenly it became over bearing, he caught himself against a tree and the contents of his gut ejected itself.

"Fuck." He muttered harshly, coughing up the remains of the booze and takeaway he had digested last night. He turned to the Officer. "What's that?"

The Officer looked startled at being addressed then confused. "What's what?"

"Don't you feel it?" he sickened man asked. He rolled his eyes for a second before answering himself, "of course you don't, bloody rookie."

He dug into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a beaten up packet of cigarettes. Pulling one out between his lips he stashed them away before producing a zippo lighter and sparking his stick of paper and tobacco. After breathing in heavily and exhaling he continued forward. The heaviness and uneasiness he had started to feel filling the air the further he went. He could see now why he had been called.

There was movement to his left turning he saw her. The woman he had been burdened with for three years. He smirked at her. The attractive officer could always been counted on to make his usually bad days even worse, she was like a rose, pretty to the eyes but once you got close you saw the thorns. In her smart, casual and usually practical style of dress she had a police poncho over it protecting her from the rain; the hood was up covering her strawberry blonde locks

"Hello Phillips."

She scowled at him, her eyes taking in his beaten and stained jeans, his dirty white shirt, loose black tie and black woollen knee long coat. His greying black hair had ash and blood in and his rough scarred and badly shaven face was covered in bruises and small cuts.

"Potter, you look like shit." She greeted him.

"Why Phillips, you always know just what to say to make a bloke feel wanted." He told her sardonically. "Had a run in with a couple o' hags last night. Rowdy bitches." He took a drag from his cigarette then pinched it between his fingers. "Now tell me, what happened and why does it feel like I got half of Ireland River dancing on my gut."

"You're a dead beat alcoholic?" she suggested.

"And you're a cold hearted bitch who for some reason hates my guts," he shot back. "Now tell me why is my gut, heart and head telling me to run from this place. Honestly I haven't had this many bad feelings since that time with the coven in Hell's Kitchen."

He wasn't lying; he could sense the perverted wrongness that lingered in the air. A wrongness that could only be brought about by hard-core dark magic. It was why he was here after all, he was a consultant to the NYPD, specialist in magic, and given he was or used to be one of the most powerful warlocks in the world he had magical knowledge in spades.

She looked at him and for a second he could see through her shell, this one had her spooked, and something that got Detective Linda Phillips spooked was not something good. "You're not wrong Potter. What do you know about sacrifice?"

Harry Potter shrugged, "not much, usually dark magic, I'm going to need to know what or who was sacrificed. Judging from the presence of you and homicide I'm guessing people, who was sacrificed?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge between them; he swore he saw a tear trickle from the corner before mingling with the rain drops on her cheeks. "I think it would be better if you saw it for yourself."

He nodded and followed her. As they reached the peak of the hill the smell hit him. The smell of death mingled with the stench of dark magic, he closed his eyes briefly battling the need to throw up again. Finally he opened them and what he saw was worse than anything he could have imagined. There was a large stone about seven foot by four, candles were set at the four corners, in four pits at each point of the compass were pits were the burnt and smoldering remains of dead animals, all rotten and stinking of dead flesh, off to one side were the rotting bodies of the animals that hadn't been used. Arranged in a pentagram around the alter and inside the perimeter set by the burning pits were the bodies of thirteen naked young women, all with their throats slit and their guts cut wide open. On the alter were thirteen blood stained bundles, though he could guess what they were he had to ask.

"The bundles of the alter?"

"The dead results of the involuntary Caesareans. The oldest being due a week from now the youngest about a month from now." Phillips told him factually. "Any ideas Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed. "I'll have to look in my books, but unless I'm mistaken and I rarely am in these matters this was an attempt at bringing a soul back from hell, using the blood of thirteen first mothers and the lives of those that yet to be." He told her. "It's an ancient ritual, I haven't seen it before, and the last recorded attempt was over a thousand years ago. Hardly anyone today would have the focus or magical power. Even in my prime I doubt I would have this kind of focus."

"So you think this is a wizard committed crime?"

Harry shook his head in negative. "No. all I can smell in death and decay. No sulfur nor brimstone and nothings burnt or destroyed apart from the animal carcasses and that's part of the ritual. It's probably a non-magical who got their hands on an old spell book and thought that any old pleb could do it. Lucky really, I'd hate to see the type of monster this ritual would raise."

"Some people do that?" Phillips asked her eyes wide.

Harry nodded, "unfortunately, some devil worshiping loony sees a way to raise a demon or the dead they do it. It's like we're bored and can't get laid let's have a little blood sacrifice, have a wank and delusion ourselves into making a deal with a demon." he sighed. "Stupid kids. What concerns me is the feeling of darkness coming up from it. The power and intent of the ritual was there, but the person performing it didn't have enough power to see it through, that's why there's such a build-up."

Phillips looked at him quizzically. "Meaning?"

"Think of it like whiskey dick or blue balls." He told her. "The set-ups done, romantic music hot bird, bit of Barry playing, the actions done along with the intent but the juice just won't come. If some dark magic was performed here now it would work and it would work well, this place is tainted and it would take some pure energy to cleanse it, I doubt even bringing in the Pope to do some chants would cleanse this place."

"You really do have a vulgar way of describing things, you know that Potter?"

He didn't respond, instead he was striding across towards the alter. As he passed one of the forensic investigators he swiped a pair of gloves from her pocket. As he pulled them on he rounded the alter. Trying to ignore the grotesque bundles his eyes scanned over the alter. A bit of paper, a small golden goblet, a flat rectangular box and a long narrow box.

"Shit." He flicked open the long narrow box. "Double shit."

"What is it?" Phillips asked coming up beside him pulling on her own gloves. He pointed at the stick that was in the box. "It's a twig, a carved and polished twig but still a twig."

He shook his head at her. "That's not a twig. It's a wand." He went to pick it up but stopped as under the glove his hand seemed to age and a shudder went through his body. "Damn, whoever used it here may not be a witch or wizard but this is definitely a wand and it's definitely been used to do some bad mojo if the residue is still leaking from it." he passed his hand over it again; his eyes closed muttering under his breath. "This one was made for evil. Pine wood, with death surrounding it…this was carved from a coffin, with a Nundu's heartstring and crystallised saliva core." He shuddered again. "Things like wands are usually passed through families, if so the user could be a squib, which might explain the build-up of power and no actual release."

"In English please Potter."

A really dark witch or wizard either made this wand or had it commissioned. They used it for, I'd say thirty maybe forty years, and they also had a kid during that time. Probably to their shame that kid was a squib," he looked at her, "born without magic." At her nod he continued. "He or she inherited the wand, as it was passed down like that until it reached our Dark Wizard Wannabe. A Squib with a wizard few miles back down the family line, now squibs have the power inside, they just don't have the ability to release it. Sometimes you get people with skills, hypnotists, spoon benders, magicians who do unconscious magic, but that's it."

"If this guy is descendant from a Wizard how did he know the ritual?"

"Well the family legend of the witch or wizard was passed down the lines as was the wand. Finally it reaches our guy, who is probably born with a screw loose and a superiority complex. He figures let's do some witchcraft just like my great-great-great ancestor did…where would you go for information in this day and age?"

"The internet." Phillips concluded.

"Exactly." Harry picked up the paper and waved it at her. "Amazing what people are putting on the net these days. Usually the wizarding world has techno savvy employees who scan for this stuff, but sometimes stuff gets through the cracks. This is the wizarding world not doing their jobs."

"Amazing and most people just surf for porn." Phillip muttered.

"Our guy surfs for sacrificial rites and ways to raise the dead." Harry muttered. "Now we need to find the i.p. address of this site and who visited it, then we'll go through all of those in this area. While you're doing that I'll go to the Wizarding Law Enforcement Office in Manhattan and report the site and get them to close it down."

Phillips nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Potter. What do you want us to do with the wand?"

"Get a box that's lined with lead or proofed against radiation leaks and put it in that. Do not, I repeat do not touch the wand, not until I'm there. With that much residue who knows what it'll do when I get a chance I'll dust it for prints." He smiled, "I do like working on cases."

Phillips looked at his in confusion. "Why?"

"Gets me out the house, gets my worries out my head, let's me do what I enjoy best."

"Which is?"

He grinned at her. "Helping people. It reminds me there are still people worth saving. Right I'm off home, need to get into my Wizarding best if I'm going to bitch at them. I'll see you back at the station Phillips."

She nodded to him and watched as he walked away and out of sight down the hill.

His apartment was small, but it had everything a wizard needed. A sofa that folded out into a camp bed, a desk, a TV and radio, a fireplace, a bookcase and his old school trunk. Okay so it was dingy, unclean and smelt of B.O, takeaway, booze and cigarette smoke but it was what he liked. It made him feel less connected to the life he used to know. The only connection he had to _that_ life were the pictures of the mantle and his old school trunk. He moved over to his trunk and opened it. Digging around he came out with some wrinkled robes that looked respectable. Sighing he waved his wand at them to smooth them out and make them smell of fresh lilies.

Moving towards the shower room he ran a comb through his tangled hair and washed his face. Giving it up he started to run a shower. His body was a litter of scars, the one on his head that had made him famous had faded of course, and it had been since he had killed Voldemort. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the decades old memory. That had been almost twenty-six years ago. So much had happened since then, his marriage to Ginny, the birth of his three kids that amazing, then a happy but seemingly brief time of family and belonging.

Then it all came to a screeching halt when Ginny declared she wanted a divorce five years ago. Everyone took her side of course. No one saw her for the money digging shrew she was, well almost no one. Harry's Godson Edward 'Teddy' Lupin had stuck by Harry, as had one of Ginny's brothers, George, but all the others had all but abandoned him. He closed his eyes. His eldest son James would be twenty now, a tear dropped from Harry's eye, he had been following in Harry's footsteps of wanting to go into magical law enforcement.

Harry rubbed his eyes, Albus had been fourteen when Harry was forced to leave, Harry had never seen his sons fifteenth birthday, something he hated. And Lily. His Lily Luna would be sixteen, a sweet sixteenth without her dad. Suddenly Harry lashed out, a fist powered by magic smashing into the clean tiles of his shower, over and over again, without realising it Harry bellowed in rage. The tiles cracking under his blows and his skin breaking as he punished it. Finally he stopped looking down at his bloody hand with small shards of tile wedged into it he cried. Sinking down into the shower tray to cry for his children, for his family and for what the cheating shrew he called an ex-wife had done to him.

He walked dramatically from the floo connection of the Manhattan Law Enforcement Office with his head held high, his hair had been brushed back but his rough beard and ragged tired look remained. A blood stained bandage was wrapped around his hand, but other than that he looked every inch of the powerful wizard he used to be. His black robes billowing behind him, the Potter crest over his heart, he had even gone to the effort of strapping on his old wand holster. Gazing around intently he strode forwards toward the Reception desk.

The girl there was no older than twenty; she was applying nail polish in a bored sort of way. He cleared his throat and she paid his no heed. He snorted this was the sort of girl he could imagine Lavender Brown becoming, an airheaded receptionist.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

She waved him off as if she were having an important conversation. He sighed.

"Excuse me?"

She waved him off again, this time shooting him a scowl. He finally lost it. He could feel it brewing inside him since this morning, being around that much magic, especially dark magic had called to his power, all the power that steamed from his negative emotions and it had finally boiled over in anger, regret, shame, heartbreak and misery.

"LISTEN YOU STUPID AIRHEADED BITCH!" he bellowed, pulling all the magic around him into a visible aurora which was glowing around him in a swirling pattern of deep green and red. "YOU ARE DOING NOTHING IMPORTANT BUT YOUR FUCKING NAILS, NOW UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO CURSE THEM OFF THEN SHOVE THEM SO FAR INTO YOUR EARS YOU WOULD HAVE A REASON TO IGNORE ME YOU WILL LISTEN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

All the office stopped what they were doing, they could feel the magic rolling off of him, and items were shaking from the magic in the air. The receptionist looked scared stiff, her nail polish bottle had imploded, nothing more than shattered remains of glass and polish. All the Officers were running towards him with their wands out, they seemed ready for a battle. Every fibre of Harry was begging him to give it to them. He turned to them; they froze in their tracks at his gaze. He took a breath. Then out again.

"Now all I want is to talk to whoever is in charge, I have had a very harrowing day so far and your ignorant receptionist has not made it any better." Harry said clearly to them, making sure everyone in the crowded room heard him clearly.

"I'm in charge, what seems to be the problem Mr…?" a large black man stepped towards him, a robe thrown over and official looking business suit.

"Potter. Harry Potter." Harry told him. Everyone froze. Inside he smirked; even across here he was well known for his Boy-Who-Lived legend. "Yeah, that Harry Potter." He looked at the receptionist and sneered. "Want to pay attention to me now?"

The man walked forwards. "I'm Fredricks Limicks. How can I help you Mr Potter?"

Harry sighed. "You may or may not have heard but I am the magical consultant in one of the local non-magical precincts. We have recently had a multiple homicide which I believe was the work of a squib attempting to perform a Dark Arts Ritual of the Necromancy variety. Thirteen pregnant women were killed cut open and their yet to be born offspring removed. Thankfully due to the nature of the murderer there were no results rendered, though the place will need to be cleansed or cornered of from the public." He told the man who nodded.

"Understood, is there anything else?" Limicks asked seriously.

"Yes," Harry answered. "This was recovered at the scene, a print out from an internet page detailing the stages of this ritual. I thought you might like your techs to look at it and delete the site and pull the author in for questioning, once the N.Y.P.D office I'm with are through with him or her of course." He smiled and ran his hand through his hair. "It is the American Law Enforcement office's job to scan and moderate any sites such as this is it not?"

Harry passed the sheet to the man, who scanned it with his eyes, which widened in shock and revulsion. "Someone actually tried to go through with this?"

"It was not a very pleasant scene. Any magic user would be able to feel it in the air; if you do send men to investigate make sure they know what they're doing. We also found a wand at the scene and a ceremonial dagger; I'll let you have them once my team have dusted them for prints."

Limicks nodded. "Okay, thanks for the advice. We'll share anything we find with you and I'm sure you'll do the same. Anything like this magical committed or not reflects badly on the community. Raises the possibility of witch fear starting up again."

Harry smiled. "Honestly I've been with the force for three years now and most of them still don't fully trust me, though I am glad that those in authority have been made aware and have people like me in quite a few precincts."

"God bless America." Limicks grinned.

Harry laughed. "If only the democrats back home followed by example." He put out his hand to shake the man's. "It was nice meeting you Mr Limicks. I'll share anything with you I can. Tell your receptionist sorry, she tried my patience at a bad time."

Limicks chuckled. "Honestly she needed a wakeup call, might make her more alert."

Harry sat the bar sipping the glass of bourbon, the amber liquid swirling around in his glass, his mind working on the puzzle that had been presented to him. The murderer had come from an old family before it squibbed out on magic, that meant money which how the wand was afforded, either that or the family were wand crafters. He sighed; the only two wand crafters he knew of were of Ollivander and Gregorovitch, neither of which would deal in the Dark Arts that it would take to manufacture such a dark and volatile wand. What he also wanted to know was who or what had the wannabe necromancer intended to raise.

"Bollocks to it." he tilted his head back and slammed back the drink. Wiping his mouth he signalled to the bartender for another.

Pulling a napkin towards him Harry drew a pen from his pocket and started sketching a bird's eye view of the scene. He needed to go there again, although he didn't want to he needed to map out the flows of the magic, something was not right and he wanted to know what. Digging into his coat he found his phone and flipped it on. Punching in Phillips number he put it to his ear and waited.

"Potter, what do you want?" she barked at him before he could speak.

"I need to go back out to the scene." He told her. "And I need to do this now."

"Why are you telling me? Why don't you just go out there and do whatever you need to do alone?" she snorted. "Do you need big bad cop lady to hold your hand?"

"Nope, not sure I'd be able to find it again."

"You're drunk aren't you?" he noted the resigned tone in her voice.

"Little bit. So can you pick me up from Finnegan's?" he asked hopefully.

She sighed deeply. "I suppose, I'll be there in half an hour, no more alcohol."

She hung up. Harry downed his last drink.

Half an hour later Harry was waiting outside the pub when Phillips pulled up in her beat up old Cadillac. Climbing in he grinned at her, a look of revulsion spread across her face and she smelt the odour of cheap after shave and whiskey coming off him.

"You know Potter, if I actually gave a damn about your well-being I would stage and intervention." She told him sternly.

Harry smirked. "Fortunately for me you don't so yippee."

"So what do you need to go out there for?" she asked him.

"I need to see if I can pick up anything from the flow of magic. It's going to be hard but hopefully I can pick up on the exact order things happened." He paused. "I went by the local magic cop shop and told them, the big boss told me they would help when they could and that the wish us luck in catching the guy." He smiled and stretched in the seat, his back and neck giving a loud crack. "What about you?"

"All thirteen women were in their late teens early twenties and all first time mothers. They were also all registered at with the same Doctor, A Doctor Gregory Lechkov. He's gone missing, couldn't contact him we also went by his offices, he's cleared out and taken all the notes of the women with him."

Harry processed the information. "Lechkov? What is that Russian?"

"Bulgarian. Why?"

"That was the home base of a Dark Lord a few decades back during the second world war. That area's always had a reputation for Dark Magic, it wouldn't surprise me if the family was part of that Dark Lords army." He sighed. "When I was working in England I went over a couple of times to assist on some international matters. I could probably call in a few favours if you wanted me to; track down the name and family history."

"How quickly could you do that?" Phillips asked.

"Give me an hour maybe two with Floo connection and I would have something. Either answers or people after my blood," he grinned at her, "I know which you'd prefer Phillips."

"I would like nothing more than to watch you burn Potter, but honestly you're a lot more tolerable than most of your kind I've met and I can't deny that you get the job done."

"Why Phillips I do believe you almost gave me a compliment." He smirked then looked at her again. "Do you have a coffee?"

A/N: Next chapter we will meet the kids and find out more about what split the family apart.


End file.
